


let's waltz—and in that moment, we'll be truly happy

by survivalinstinctvalkyria



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: I will never be over them, M/M, This is so soft, they ballroom dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 09:51:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15969881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/survivalinstinctvalkyria/pseuds/survivalinstinctvalkyria
Summary: Theirs is a quiet, yet forever overwhelming love—a chorale that's theirs alone, and that will fade into a soft and wispy dolcissimo to follow them around once they leave this quiet corner of the world.





	let's waltz—and in that moment, we'll be truly happy

**Author's Note:**

> Writing at four in the morning on a school night probably isn't healthy, but my soul needed these soft keichis. School is so stressful ;;
> 
> A word about the fic, though: I felt so soft writing this, and I hope you feel the same way.
> 
> Eichi's specialty is ballroom dancing, and this idea was actually put into my head my someone I follow on Instagram, so I think this is fitting???

“Eichi! There you are!”

Said blonde turns around with a brilliant smile, eyes softened by a fraction, as if teasing angels to come mingle within them.

“I _am_ here,” he responds. “You found me.”

He turns fully, with a magnificent twirl that makes his hair sway off to the side, brushing against his lips and cheeks. His gait is light as he prances up to Keito, like he's stepping across clouds, and when he stops, it's an elegant movement of its own—placing one foot a bit ahead to act as a brake, landing on it gently, like he's weightless, before bringing his second foot to rest next to the first. His teeth—pure white, straight, as perfect as the rest of him—peek through his lips when he grins at Keito. When he reaches for Keito's hands, Keito's mind first registers how soft it feels, before those thoughts overtaken by things such as how frigid and cold his hand is, and how light, fleeting, _ephemeral_ his grasp is.

“Yes, I found you.” Keito's voice breaks through the transience like a cannon, and he pulls his hand away from Eichi's. “Care to tell me why you're here, in the ballroom, of all places, instead of up in your bed resting?”

The angelic expression Eichi holds fades away to an almost pouting look of obstinance. “You know me, Keito, when am I ever content to follow the doctor's orders?”

Keito sighs, exasperation fading into the atmosphere, the phrase _how incorrigible_ floating in the air between them. “You have no good reason to be here. You're not even being productive. Go back to your room, before I drag you there myself.”

Eichi's eyes widen a fraction in amusement. “But, Keito, isn't it nice here? We shouldn't waste what little youth we have. Listen—I put some music on.”

“You—” But Eichi presses his index finger against Keito's lips.

“I said listen.”

Gripping onto Eichi's wrist—carefully, _can't blemish, can't taint_ —Keito pulls his hand away. “Like I was saying, you should be resting right now. I don't care about the music. Go back to your room.”

“Hmm,” Eichi hums, even though he surely isn't considering agreeing. “That would be rather melancholy, wouldn't it? Here we are, in a glorious ballroom, a romantic waltz seeping through the room, just you and I—and your grand idea is for us to head back to my room to rest?”

Keito nods. “I don't care what kind of fairytale you're trying to imitate, you need rest.”

“That's not it, Keito,” Eichi responds with a shake of his head. “That's not it at all. Don't you remember? When we were young, and I was learning how to waltz, and you were my partner?” His voice is quiet and fragile now, a mere breeze through the room carrying a wistful edge, as if he's afraid he'll scare the memories away. “When we danced, I felt free. You'd hold onto me, and I, you, and we'd sway like we were the only ones in the world.” His voice is a soft whisper now. “Whenever I think of those times, I feel joyful. Right now—I probably deserve to feel this, but…!—I can't help but feel melancholy. If we could dance like that, I'd be overjoyed.”

His eyes meet Keito's gently, almost shyly, and Keito's heart melts yet again—

“Please, Keito.”

—Before it's a puddle of mush, and Keito can't control himself as he reaches out to take Eichi's hands in his own.

“Then we'll dance, you fool.”

At first, Eichi's expression is surprised, eyes widening and mouth parting, but he doesn't hesitate to lean back into Keito.

“That's a rather roundabout way to say 'May I have this dance?’, you know,” and his voice is regaining strength, a playful lilt dancing through his words. When Keito scowls, he giggles, and leans in close to whisper into Keito's ear. “Either way, the answer is _yes, of course_.”

They fall into the steps easily. Keito's right hand and Eichi's left stay entwined, Keito's left hand finding its way on Eichi’s hip, and Eichi's right, on Keito's shoulder. With a turn, and a twirl, then the sensation of Eichi's breath against his cheek, Keito spins Eichi around like he's a magnificent creature he's putting on display, like he's bringing Eichi's soul to Heaven, giving them a sampling of their to-be angel. With each passing step, the ground feels farther away, lighter, almost like he's stepping across clouds and water. In this sanctuary of theirs, they dance with no one to watch, an otherwise quiet, secret, love swelling along with the music—a _chorale_ that's theirs alone, and that will fade into a soft and wispy _dolcissimo_ to follow them around once they leave this quiet corner of the world.

But none of that can compare to the look of Eichi's face. So free and overjoyed, like someone had plunged them into the holy waters to clean them of their sins before setting them out to dance. Gazing upon Keito like he's a mythical creature from the heavens, brought down to Earth to be praised and admired—like he isn't an angel himself. His lips curve upwards into a smile so outworldly, so heavenly, that Keito wonders if his most beloved dreams had seeped into the real world.

 _I love you,_ he thinks, and over again because no matter how many times he says it, it's never enough.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

And he must have accidentally said it aloud, because Eichi's lips part in a mix of shock and awe, before he leans up to whisper into Keito's ear.

“I love you, too.”

And then they're soaring.

Keito's eyes must be tearing up, because even with his glasses on, he swears that the white blur behind Eichi looks like an angel’s wings. Every little movement is so perfect, so ethereal, so full of love, that Keito can't seem to find the reason he hadn't swept Eichi off his feet into a waltz and he had first come in.

The crescendo swells and leaps over the pair with practiced ease—and Keito holds onto Eichi tighter, holds him closer, because he can never be close enough—before all of the joy between them bursts into the coda, and the song is done, they've reached the _fine._

In the moment after the song ends, they're clutching onto each other for dear life, breathing heavily, tired and drained, but so drunk on love that they feel like they could do it over again a thousand times.

Perhaps it's that intoxication—or maybe the way the magnificent ballroom lights reflect in Eichi's pale blue eyes, or the way Eichi's smile somehow softens even more when he glances up to Keito—that enables Keito to lean forward, and steal Eichi's lips with his own.

Everything between them is so _soft_ , so unreal, so undeniably perfect that Keito can't help but wonder if he's living a daydream. From how soft and gentle Eichi's lips are, pressed against his own, to the way Eichi's hand delicately drifts up from Keito's shoulder to cup his cheek, everything feels like a picture dyed in pastel.

When they part, Eichi giggles softly—a mellifluous sound in its own right, comparable to the jingle of bells—and more sweet words leak from his lips like honey.

“Thank you; I love you—I always have. Everything about you makes me so happy.”

And Keito's response is equally as tender.

“Then you and I, both, are overjoyed, aren't we?”

In the back of his ears, Keito can hear the quiet whisper, the _adagio_ , of the next song’s _overture_. His heart beats softly alongside its steady tempo, practically singing against his chest.

 _As long as we can dance like this, then we'll always be happy, won't we?_ he thinks.

And, of course, this Keito Hasumi—foolishly and blindly in love—only has one wish for the blessed being known as Eichi Tenshouin—tender, genuine, quite literally an angel: that he find eternal happiness.

So, he pulls Eichi closer, and leans to whisper into his ear, softly, as tender as he's ever spoken:

“May I have this dance?”

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell I love them?


End file.
